


Smokecloud Hearts

by Solar_Sylvilagus



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: First work for this fandom. How To Character?, I honestly don't know what to call this, M/M, Other than self-indulgent schlock, no beta as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 04:39:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19760770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solar_Sylvilagus/pseuds/Solar_Sylvilagus
Summary: Self-indulgent Bounty Hunter/Abomination. That's it. That's all.





	Smokecloud Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> This one's dedicated to my Fellow Shipper, Ox. Here's Wonderwall.

There was no chance to light a torch, as the moment Bigby had hunched to strike a match, the _whoosh_ of air from a swung, uprooted tree had it guttering out. Snarling in frustration, he threw the tinderbox and the torch down and squinted into the darkness. All around him were the noises of the Weald, mixed in with the horrified shrieks from Alhazred, the already skittish Occultist driven to hysteria as he was attempting to scramble to the backlines. Foul mud filled his mouth as he was shoved off balance in the scramble to beat back baying mutts.

Another, distinctly pained voice joined the discordant choir. Sarmenti, resorting to beating the side of one of those half-rotted wolves with the side of his lute as it savaged his leg. Taken off guard before they even had a chance to camp. Gritting his teeth, Bigby heaved and swung his heavy iron chains, providing enough of a distraction for the Jester to hobble away.

Flashbangs crackled as a steady gloved hand hauled him to his feet and a gruff voice spoke into his ear. “Transform. Now.”

And so he does.

* * *

The rest of the battle was but a blur of colors and motion, and as the beast subsides he can hear it's irate panting ringing in his ears. Sarmenti is still plucking at his lute, even though the giant lies dead, attempting to lull Alhazred away from the edge of madness. As he sets up the campfire, Tardif spares a glance, face unreadable behind his mask.

After wiping blood from his hands onto his shroud, Bigby took careful stock of the rations, bristling only slightly when half-crazed and distrustful eyes skated across his back. Soothing thoughts urged the beast away from the front, and only then did he dare to speak. “We should have enough for a decent meal, and enough to see us to the ended of this endeavor.”

Dried and salted meats make an unpleasant meal, but it will sustain them. They must eat to keep their strength up, and so he ignores the exaggerated disgust with which Sarmenti accepts the jerky. “One could mistake it for meat from one of those fungal beasts, it's odor is nearly as potent.” No one laughs, and Bigby carefully peels the crust from his bread and drops it onto Tardif''s mostly untouched food. Using one of the brick-like crusts, he taps noisily on the untouched loaf, and while Tardif does shoo his hand away, he also pushes up his mask and takes a bite. The map has absorbed his attention, and he fishes a pen from within the bag and begins scribbling in the margins.

Scooting closer to the Jester, he gestures to the man's sluggishly bleeding leg, and the returns the glare he gets in response. “I know just enough to be dangerous, now be still.”

“Oh? Just enough? Not what that poor sap with the treebranch said, no sir.” Deft hands pick a bit of dried blood out of Bigby's hair before he can pull back. The touch earns a show of sharpened teeth, and Sarmenti giggles. “Ooh, big bad wolf, are you? Come on now, I'm only joking. You're more goat, aren't you? Did quite a number with those horns, didn't you? Right through the stomach, like a warm knife through butter.”

Carefully schooling his face, Bigby pours rum over the wound and presses down bandages in one swift move, ignoring startled shout and admonishment from Alhazred.

“Sarmenti's on first watch.” A torch is roughly tossed into his hands, and Tardif's mask is unreadable as ever.

“No sense of humor, any of you.”

* * *

Even in such a twisted, corrupted land, there's peace to be found within the Weald. Certainly a cheaper peace than that offered in the Cloister, with it's choking incense and echoing chants. The air is cold and Bigby entertains himself by trying to form shapes with the clouds of his breath, his mind drifting to the vaguely heart-shaped ring of smoke Tardif had puffed at him from across a tavern table.

Tardif, who he probably should have spoken to before he left. Who had stood up for him in his own way, and made the part of him that was cross with the man feel a bit ashamed.

Tardif, who's helmet is reflecting the light of his torch as he peers up at Bigby from below the tree. Tardif, who pulls a black and red jester hat from his pocket, and says a gruff, “Sorry. Should've said more.”

When Bigby's feet touch the cold ground, he glances at the hat. Patched and worn as the fabric is, the bells are polished to a shine. “I thought you hunted down thieves for a living?”

“I also do revenge.” And he puts the hat onto Bigby's head, pulling it over his cold ears. “And I replaced his lute strings with fishing wire.”

“You're a menace.”

“Only for you.”

“A corny menace.”

“Your menace.”


End file.
